Chapter 2: Education: The Road to a Better Future

That evening, I told my mother about the interview. She listened quietly, then nodded. "When do you leave?"

"Next week."

She reached out and touched my cheek. "Then we must prepare."

I saw the worry in her eyes, but also something else—pride. She believed in me, even when I struggled to believe in myself.

The next few days passed in a blur of preparation. My mother packed a small bag for me: a change of clothes, some bread, and a little money she had saved. My father gave me directions to the town, drawing a rough map on a piece of paper.

"Follow the main road until you reach the big market," he said. "Then ask for the education office. Everyone knows it."

I studied the map carefully, memorizing every turn.

On the morning of my departure, I woke before dawn. The village was still dark and quiet. I dressed in my best clothes—the same uniform I wore to school, but clean and pressed. My mother had washed it the night before and hung it to dry by the fire.

She handed me the bag. "Eat something before you go."

I sat down at the table, but I could not eat much. My stomach was tight with nerves.

My father came to the door. "Are you ready?"

I nodded.

"Then go. And remember—whatever happens, we are proud of you."

Those words stayed with me as I stepped outside. The sky was beginning to lighten, and the first birds were singing. I took a deep breath and began walking.

The road to the town was long and dusty. I passed fields where farmers were already working, women carrying water, and children walking to school. Everyone seemed to have a purpose. I wondered if I would find mine.

After several hours, I reached the market my father had mentioned. It was crowded and noisy. I stopped for a moment, feeling overwhelmed. Then I remembered his words: "Everyone knows it."

I approached an old man selling vegetables. "Excuse me, can you tell me where the education office is?"

He pointed down a narrow street. "Follow this road. You will see a yellow building on your left."

I thanked him and continued walking.

The yellow building stood at the end of the street, two stories high with a faded sign above the door. I stopped outside, my heart pounding. This was it.

I walked inside.

The office was small, with a wooden desk and a few chairs. A woman sat behind the desk, looking at papers. She looked up when I entered.

"Can I help you?"

"I am here for an interview," I said. "My name is Fiad."

She checked a list on her desk. "Yes, I see your name. Please have a seat. Someone will call you."

I sat down on one of the chairs. The minutes passed slowly. I watched the door, waiting. Other students arrived and sat down beside me. Some looked confident. Others looked as nervous as I felt.

After what felt like hours, a man in a white shirt came to the door. "Fiad?"

I stood up. "Yes."

"Come with me."

I followed him into a small room with a table and two chairs. He gestured for me to sit. I sat down, my hands clasped in my lap.

The man introduced himself. "I am Mr. Ahmed, the coordinator for the scholarship program."

I nodded.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

I took a breath. Then I began to speak. I told him about my village, my family, my love for learning. I told him about the goat my mother had sold, about my father's words, about the long walk to school every morning. I told him about my failures and my determination to keep trying.

He listened without interrupting. When I finished, he was quiet for a moment.

"Why do you want this opportunity?" he asked.

"Because I believe education can change my life," I said. "And I want to make my family proud."

He nodded slowly. Then he asked me a few questions about my studies. I answered as honestly as I could.

When the interview ended, he stood up and shook my hand. "We will inform you of the decision by mail. It may take a few weeks."

I thanked him and left.

Outside, the sun was high in the sky. I felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had done my best. Now I could only wait.

The walk back to the village felt shorter. I was tired, but my heart was full. I thought about everything that had brought me to this moment—the struggles, the sacrifices, the support of my family and friends.

When I arrived home, my mother was waiting at the door. She looked at my face and smiled. "How was it?"

"I think it went well," I said.

She hugged me. "I knew you would do well."

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the roof again. But this time, I was not thinking about failure. I was thinking about possibilities.

A few days later, I returned to school. Mr. Jarso asked about the interview. I told him everything.

"Good," he said. "Now we wait."

I continued studying with Mohamed and Abdijabar. The rumour about special treatment had faded. Some students still doubted me, but I no longer cared. I had something more important to focus on.

One afternoon, as we were studying under a tree, Abdijabar looked at me. "What will you do if you get the scholarship?"

I thought for a moment. "I will study hard. I will make the most of it."

"And if you don't?"

I looked at the ground. "Then I will find another way. I will not give up."

He nodded. "That is the right answer."

Weeks passed. Every day, I checked the post. Every day, there was nothing. I tried to stay patient, but hope began to fade.

Then one morning, as I was leaving for school, I saw my mother standing at the gate, holding an envelope.

"Fiad," she said, her voice trembling. "A letter has come."

I took the envelope from her hands. My name was written on it. I recognized the seal of the education office.

I opened it slowly, my hands shaking.

The words blurred before my eyes. I read them once, then again.

"I got it," I whispered.

My mother looked at me. "What?"

"I got the scholarship."

She let out a cry and hugged me tightly. I felt her tears on my cheek.

My father came running from the house. "What happened?"

"He got it," my mother said. "Fiad got the scholarship."

My father stood still for a moment. Then he smiled—a smile I had not seen in a long time.

"I knew you could do it," he said.

That evening, the whole village seemed to know. Neighbours came to congratulate us. Abdijabar and Mohamed arrived with big grins.

"I told you," Mohamed said. "Hard work pays off."

I smiled. But deep inside, I knew this was only the beginning. The scholarship was a door, not a destination. I still had to walk through it.

That night, I sat under the tree where my father often sat. The sky was full of stars. I thought about the road ahead—the challenges, the sacrifices, the opportunities.

I thought about my mother's goat, my father's words, my teacher's guidance, my friends' support.

I thought about all the people who believed in me.

And I made a promise to myself: I would not let them down.

The journey was far from over. In many ways, it was just beginning. But for the first time, I felt ready.

I looked up at the stars and smiled.

Tomorrow, I would start walking again.